


After

by schematise



Series: Wranduin Week 2020 [1]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Anduin Wrynn Deserves Better, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Patch 8.3: Visions of N'Zoth, Post-8.3, That feeling when you start venting built up emotions and can't stop, World of Warcraft: Battle for Azeroth, Wranduin Week 2020, Wrathion tries so no-one can criticise him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:35:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26356576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schematise/pseuds/schematise
Summary: "Anduin," he begins, and blue eyes flick up to meet him. That's worse somehow. Wrathion tries to breathe past the tightness in his chest. "I never wanted to hurt you, Anduin --" he begins, and his answer is a weak laugh."Didn't you? What did you think would happen?"
Relationships: Wrathion/Anduin Wrynn
Series: Wranduin Week 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1915234
Comments: 4
Kudos: 105





	After

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Pink for beta reading my Alliance content, despite being lifelong Horde

Stormwind is quiet at this late hour.

Wrathion has, at least, been given the opportunity to change. The chance to wash himself clean of Ny'alotha's touch, to become something close to himself once more. He's been interrogated by Genn, an encounter tempered by Anduin's less brusque queries, and now is being afforded a moment to sit and drink some of the well aged Dalaran red kept in a cupboard for entertainment purposes. The private meeting chamber at the back of the keep is nicely furnished, if blandly so. An old painting of Stormwind itself is on one wall, and Wrathion can't help but notice the image is now rather out of date. The city has been through so much, in a few years no doubt will change again.

"You're tired," Anduin says, and Wrathion lets out a breathy laugh.

"I suppose I am. Killing an Old God takes a lot out of you."

"I suppose it does. You can sleep in one of the guest rooms, I'll have one readied."

"Ahhh, the finest beds in Stormwind I'm sure!"

"I wouldn't go that far, but good enough to get some rest."

They lapse into comfortable silence for a moment, Wrathion tipping his head back with a sigh to absently study the ceiling as Anduin frowns down at his drink. He's working up to something, clearly. Processing a thought, circling, deciding if he wants to voice it. Ever the diplomat, ever careful with his words.

"Where will you go?" he prompts, and Wrathion blinks over at him again. "Tomorrow," Anduin clarifies, "I'm assuming you aren't going to stay in Stormwind. Will you be heading back to Silithus?"

"There is still the matter of a rather large sword to deal with."

Anduin offers a wan smile, aware this isn't an actual answer. Guilt stabs Wrathion all at once, as if he should have said something else, but the truth is he doesn't know. He hadn't planned for what happened after, for where he might travel should their plan succeed. It seemed wiser not to, better to live in the here and now when death could be around any corner.

The silence draws out again, more expectant this time. He's waiting, now, to begin whatever this conversation is going to become. There are a few options, some more pleasant than others. No doubt Anduin has been thinking on things since their reunion, Wrathion himself has been doing the same. He isn't certain he's any closer to knowing what to say in answer, to being able to negotiate this conversation properly, but he can try. The thought makes him tense, as if bracing for a blow. Something potentially more painful than the one he'd taken to the face, something that cut deeper. His heart races, mind starting to whirl with potentials, fingers tightening around the glass he's holding.

"For the longest time," Anduin begins, "I kept imagining what I'd say to you if I ever saw you again. I had arguments with you in my head. Sometimes I won, sometimes you won. Yet the years went by, Wrathion, and you never came. I heard reports saying you'd been seen out in the Spires of Arak, in Dragonblight, yet you never sent word to me at all. 

"You'd said you considered me a friend, once, but you never told me what you were planning. Then you didn't speak to me at all for years. I didn't feel much like we were friends, after that. It made me wonder if anything was ever true. It made me wonder if any of it meant anything to you at all, or if everything was calculated. Each small act of kindness designed to lower my defences, to stop me from being suspicious. To keep me from looking too closely into what you did."

"Anduin --"

"No, you don't get to interrupt now. You had plenty of time, Wrathion. Now you have to _listen_. I was so angry at you -- I'm still so angry at you. You were one of the most interesting, most intelligent people I had met and I didn't understand how you could do something so... so _irrecoverably_ stupid! So many people died, Wrathion, and they died because you were too proud to consider anyone else's opinion at all. You just made the decision for us, self-assured it was the right one. You treated life the same way you'd treat a board game, only you've never had to face the consequence of losing so many pieces before. You've never had to speak to grieving families like I have. To try and give people hope when you're sick to your stomach. I kept wondering what you saw in your mind, what vision you had where it all made sense, but I don't think I'll ever understand. Not that it matters anymore. 

"You were wrong."

Wrathion reels, the words ringing in his ears. _You were wrong_ , Anduin says, and the urge to argue bubbles up again. To protest, to bargain, to reason. The evidence is already in place though, and things have long played out the way they would. People are dead, Varian Wrynn included. Perhaps it might have gone differently, if he hadn't interfered, perhaps it might have been worse -- but they'll never find out. They can only see what is here and now, only see the damage caused by his actions. Arguing won't help. He has to hold himself together, has to keep himself cool and relaxed. 

Anduin frowns at him, trying to pick apart his expression.

"I don't know if you're only here because this is... personal, because the Old Gods and the Black Dragonflight have such a long history, or if you mean what you say. If you intend to put right everything that was done and to keep working for Azeroth. It would be a noble goal, one I would support you in, but I can't take another betrayal Wrathion. I can't."

The words echo dizzily through his mind, a pressure building inside his head as if he might explode from the muddle of thoughts vying for attention. It is personal, of course it is, but that isn't the only reason. He could have gone directly to the Horde, could have addressed neither faction and let Magni handle things as Speaker, but he'd told Anduin he would come. Back then, in Pandaria, he'd told him they'd face some darker threat together. Perhaps he doesn't remember, or it doesn't matter now, but the dragon had come like he said he would. He sets down his glass of wine on a side table, waits to see if there is more to say. Wrathion would deserve it, deserves everything Anduin has said.

"You knew what he did to me," Anduin says. Ah, yes, there it is. Wrathion lifts his gaze to meet Anduin's eyes, expecting them to be pinning him. They aren't, they're turned away -- fixed on some absent point across the room. "You knew what happened with Garrosh. Did it not bother you at all? I still feel it, Wrathion. Velen thinks I always will. A constant reminder of what you did, I suppose."

That stings, a sharp blade to Wrathion's side. He swallows, tries to work out if he's allowed to speak yet. He was asked a question, wasn't he? Is he allowed to answer?

"Anduin," he begins, and blue eyes flick up to meet him. That's worse somehow. Wrathion tries to breathe past the tightness in his chest. "I never wanted to hurt you, Anduin --" he begins, and his answer is a weak laugh.

"Didn't you? What did you think would happen?"

It's a good question. Wrathion frowns, drops his eyes away to the floor.

"Well everything is obvious in _hindsight_ , of course," he snaps.

Anduin offers a weak smile, shakes his head.

"I suppose that's true," he allows, more generously than Wrathion suspects he deserves. "Mistakes are always clearer in hindsight. I've made plenty of my own."

They fall into uncomfortable stillness again, more uncomfortable Wrathion suspects for himself than for Anduin. He writhes in his own skin, desperate to do or say something but with no idea where to start. Is there anything he can say, at this point? Anything at all he can do? Or would staying quiet be the better choice, so as not to keep making matters worse?

"I wanted to stay angry at you," Anduin admits. "The light teaches forgiveness but... I was so angry at you, for such a long time, and I held onto it. It's easier to be angry, I think, than anything else. Anger can drive you forward. Grief sticks your feet to the ground, chills you until you can't do anything at all. I wanted to be angry at you so I could use that anger, but it's exhausting. I can't keep this up. I don't want to be angry anymore, but -- every time I trust people things fall apart. Isn't that funny?"

It isn't funny at all. Wrathion imagines Anduin here in Stormwind suffering betrayal after betrayal, his own added to the pile. Endless disappointments, losses, and endless responsibilities piled onto him before he's had a chance to recover from the last one. 

"I know I shouldn't be doing this now, you're tired -- light, I'm tired too -- and you've been helping us. You have, I understand that. I know I'm being selfish, I just -- will you promise me, Wrathion? No more secrets, no more tricks. Will you promise me that much? That you won't betray us again?"

His heart clenches at that, uneasiness swimming through him. Promises are difficult, binding. It isn't that he wants to turn on Anduin again, that he wants some loophole or out, but the danger here is the risk of things changing. The risk of being led down a path where they're at odds, where in a moment he has to make a choice that breaks this promise. He doesn't want to, if he makes this promise he wants to keep it and that... that presents problems. That's a loyalty to Anduin, a loyalty to the Alliance when Wrathion had endeavoured to be a protector of Azeroth itself -- factions aside. He knows he shouldn't, that in the grand scheme of things as much as he cares for Anduin, his life will be a fleeting thing compared to Wrathion's own. This is a path that might only be littered with more pain for the both of them, with complexities, with arguments and questions and judgements.

Wrathion, the Black Prince, should not be taking sides in a conflict. He made that mistake before, swore himself off that, and focused himself away from interfering directly.

"I promise," he hears himself say, and Anduin's smile is full of relief. He thinks it might be worth it, whatever happens, to see that.

"Thank you," Anduin says, and the relief seems to make him sag -- seems to make exhaustion sink deeper into his bones. Wrathion wonders how much he's been sleeping. If nightmares have plagued him as much as they've plagued the dragon. If they'll even go away, now that N'Zoth is no more, or if they'll linger -- insidious, worming their way into his thoughts at the slightest provocation. The Old Gods may be gone, but recovery still takes some time even after a sickness is uprooted. Strength takes time to regain, defences need to be rebuilt. Anduin Wrynn has been worn down by so many things, and with Sylvanas Windrunner at large he has no reprieve -- no time to relax before the next onslaught. The shadows under his eyes have no time to fade.

They could leave it at that. They should, in truth. Wrathion should accept the thanks, should sip his wine and stay long enough to be polite before excusing himself. He could claim the day has been long, that they both need rest. He could sleep, return to Silithus in the morning and neither of them would have to think of this anymore.

Instead, Wrathion is on his feet.

He stops beside Anduin's chair, carefully reaches to take one of his hands and twines their fingers together. He senses no resistance, but the expression that meets his is wary -- mistrustful of what might come next. It reminds him of a younger version of the man, shorter hair and brighter eyes. One who had studied him over a game board, who had taught him so much. Who had so much curiosity, so much faith, so much hope. Something he had utterly failed to have himself.

_He's not like other dragons, is he? He's completely honest and yet always hiding something.  
_

Anduin hadn't known how right he was.

His fingers tighten through Anduin's, trying to press some understanding into him physically, and Wrathion drops to kneel by his chair.

"You have every right to be angry at me," he says, and something flickers in Anduin's expression. Some crack in his unsteady composure, threatening to spider out at the slightest pressure. They're on thin ice here, both exhausted and both holding back. The tension is unbearable, and when it breaks they're both going to hurt more. Yet pain is part of the healing process. N'Zoth's tendrils may have been ripped free of Azeroth, yet Wrathion still fights to heal all her wounds. Some wounds are more personal. Some wounds were caused by the clumsy machinations of dragons who thought they knew better, long ago, and have been allowed to fester too long. Some wounds must be allowed to bleed before they can truly heal. 

"Don't do this," Anduin says softly, and a slight waver colours his voice. Something Wrathion hates, fiercely, to know he's caused. 

"I won't, if you don't want me to. If you'd prefer I leave altogether, then that is what I will do. I can be gone at first light."

Wrathion waits as Anduin studies his expression, trying his best to read the other man in turn. The furrow of his brow, the twitches of uncertainty, the way his hand tightens around his after a moment. There's a slow, unsteady intake of breath and the nagging ache takes its place up back in his chest again. Forgiveness is never easily earned, Wrathion doesn't expect it to be, but this pain is too much.

"Don't," Anduin repeats, "please. I can't take any more of this, Wrathion, I can't --"

His voice breaks, falls into another hitch of uncertainty, and Wrathion can't take any more of this either. He surges up, draws Anduin forward with his free arm and holds him tight into his shoulder. The dam breaks, and an arm tightens around him in turn. He hears a sharp intake of a breath, a shuddering exhale, and he answers by untwining their fingers and squeezing Anduin closer into his body for comfort. Another shudder wracks through him, cracks finally widening to cataclysmic splits until it seems as if his arms might be the only thing holding the young king together at all. 

If that's the case, so be it. He can simply be here, as long as he's needed.

"I'll stay," he assures him, "if that's what you'd like me to do."

Fingers tighten into his shirt in response, securing him in place, and Wrathion takes that for confirmation enough. He holds on until the quaking stops, eases his grip at the tentative signs of movement and allows them a moment to recover. Time enough for Anduin to smooth out his clothing, to try and rub the blotches from his face with a nervous laugh. Neither of them, he supposes, are quite sure what to do now. How to progress. His hands drop away to rest on the edge of the chair, waiting for some sign. Anduin takes a few slow breaths, collecting himself, then pushes to his feet -- reaches out and catches one of Wrathion's hands to pull the dragon up by his side. He lets it happen, feeling faintly dazed by it all, and is immediately knocked more unsteady by the warmth of Anduin's smile.

"I offered you a room, adviser. I'll be offended if the Protector of Azeroth refuses my hospitality."


End file.
